“You mock me and then wonder why I don’t want to marry you,” she whispered in an unsteady voice.
He studied her, slowly shaking his head. “My dear, I only become angry with you like a patient father to his child. Why must you reject my help for your own good? You willfully and incorrectly cast me as a villain, refusing to let any affection grow in your heart.” He cupped her chin, raising her head. “Come, let me love you. There now, see how nice you are when you’re docile?” She watched him close his eyes, his open mouth descending onto hers.
She shrank away from his touch, escaping to the corner by the sofa. She wrapped her arms about her. “I-I can have the remaining monies to you in a fortnight.”
He raked his hand through his hair and began to pace, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath. Estella’s belly tightened with dread. In a sudden motion, he slammed his fist into the sofa cushion. And then again and again.
“Mr. Todd!”
He pointed his finger at her, his nostrils quivering. “You cannot keep your home. You cannot tend to your sisters and mother. You purchase her medicine on credit. What kind of daughter are you? Selfish and unthinking, that’s what. You’re living in some dream world. As though this were a bloody dollhouse and you’re the Duchess of Lucere.”
Was she truly living in some dollhouse dream world? It didn’t seem like much of a dream, more the stuff of nightmares.
He snatched up his hat. “I’m taking Mama to York to visit her sister for two weeks. I shall buy her gowns of silk and sarsenet while I’m there. That’s how I treat proper ladies. I could have treated you that way.”
Estella bit back a nasty retort about treating ladies to silken threats and sarsenet-draped coercion. When she said nothing, he stalked to the table, scooped up her coins, and strode out the door. But a few moments later, he was back. “You will take my hand, Estella,” he hissed. “You will learn to love me.” He walked out again, this time with a muttered curse.
Estella pressed her hands to her face. Her heart thundered. She waited a moment more until she heard the thud of the front door and then fled to the kitchens.
She felt as though the failure of their lodging house was her own doing. Somehow, she should have done something different, something better. As much as she tried to ignore Mr. Todd’s cruel words, some echoed her own fears. She couldn’t take care of her mother; she couldn’t raise her lovely sisters to the genteel lives they should have. It was her fault.
Don’t cry, she told herself as tears blurred her eyes. Don’t you dare cry. Not if you care for your family.
She poured a fortifying cup of pure black tea—such luxuries as milk and sugar were saved for paying lodgers—and sat at her writing desk. She had lugged it to the kitchens so she could take care of correspondences while watching whatever was simmering on the range, as well as enjoy the warmth radiating from the coals. Without the necessary funds to resupply the coal, she had rationed the precious black gold to the kitchens and her mother’s room when they didn’t have lodgers. And they hadn’t had any for a month.
She unfolded the letter from the duke’s secretary and reread it, looking for some ray of hope she might have missed upon the first perusal. He had written that His Grace thanked her for her gracious letter and for the felicitations for his happiness. Unfortunately, she could claim no ties to the great family, and thus the duke was under no obligation to offer her any assistance.
“How can you say that?” she cried. “I have repeatedly detailed how we are related through my grandfather.”
Mr. Fellows closed by saying that the duke wished she and her family—although entirely unrelated to His Grace—health and happiness.
Happiness? She wasn’t sure she knew what that word meant anymore. Now when she thought of happiness she remembered being a child, holding her grandfather’s hand as she and the toddling twins walked through the forest paths. He would make up wondrous stories about fairies living amid the ferns. How lovely their lives had been then, filled with affection and security. Now she met every morning with fear.
She studied the secretary’s missive. Had the Duke of Lucere even seen her words? She sighed, turned the letter, and began to write in very small lines across Mr. Fellows’s neat scrawl. The words she kept safe from her mother and sisters now burst onto the page.
Dear Duke,
Thank you for your last letter composed by your secretary. Please thank him for inquiring after the family. I do not understand why Mr. Fellows insists that you and I are not related. I have more than once established the connection through my beloved grandfather, Lord Maxim, your great-uncle. Your Grace and I are second cousins. To this end, I beg your assistance of a mere ten pounds to meet some of my creditors. Upon my honor as a Primrose, I shall recompense every borrowed pound and with a generous three percent interest. My mother is an infirmed widow; she suffers greatly from weakening ailments. I am trying to raise my twin sisters as genteel ladies worthy of the Primrose family motto —duty, honor, truth, sacrifice, and courage. Words I have endeavored to live my life by.
As we are family, I shall open my entire situation to you. Unless I receive kind assistance soon, I shall have no other course than to make an undesired alliance with a powerful man of a harsh, brutish nature. This gentleman has used his influence to vilify my character and chase away more worthy suitors.
I beg that Mr. Fellows will pass along my letter to Your Grace’s hand. I am most desperate in my plea.
Yours sincerely,
Estella signed her name to this outpouring and hurried to open the door for Lottie, who was dragging a copper kettle into the kitchens for the laundry. Dear Lottie was the only remaining servant. She was a sturdy woman of thirty-five years, but her mind remained that of a child.
Estella addressed and sealed her letter, and then gave Lottie explicit instructions to mail it and ask for a receipt.
“Yes, miss,” the servant replied, happy to be tasked with the important chore. Before Lottie could leave, she had to hug Estella. “I love you, miss. I do. You are my favorite person in the whole world.”
“I love you too,” Estella assured her.
This pleased Lottie, and she skipped off, a huge grin lifting her face.
Estella had begun to make her way to her mother’s room when the bell for the front door rang.
She panicked. The only people who called lately were Mr. Todd and creditors.
But what if it was an actual customer?
She dashed into the breakfast room where her sixteen-year-old twin sisters, Cecelia and Amelia, were supposedly doing their geography studies. Instead, she found them giggling and trimming each other’s gowns with garish cloth flowers cut from old, unusable drapes. The book on the customs and landscapes of the Orient, which she had begged to borrow from the circulation library, lay unopened on the table beside a sliced beet and a jar of something resembling black clay. The girls stopped giggling, as though Estella were some warden, and shoved the vegetable and jar under the cut-up drapes.
“What are you doing?” Estella cried, staring at their garments. “You are ruining your gowns!”
“We are not!” Amelia protested. “We are making them fashionable.”
“That’s not fashionable! That’s… that’s… garish! Hideous! Appalling!”
She desperately desired to treat her sisters to a smart scolding. After all, she scrubbed, cleaned, cooked, and mended so that they could be raised as proper ladies and make good establishments, escaping the prison in which Estella found herself. But she had more pressing matters to attend.
“Answer the door,” she begged the twins. “If it’s a creditor tell… tell him that I’m out. And then remove those repulsive flowers from your gown. And I don’t want to see them put on a bonnet either.”
What a terrible example I’m setting for my sisters, Estella thought as she stationed herself behind the stairs to listen. An antithesis to the Primrose motto. But if a creditor was calling to demand payment, she had no funds left.
Mr. Todd had taken them all.
Chapter Three
* * *
“It is entirely possible this structure may collapse on our heads during our stay,” Lucere observed to Harris, now that he could assess how badly the foundation of the Duke of Lucere’s Boarding House had shifted. “His Grace requires a better steward.” If the outside was so atrocious, he could only imagine the inside of crumbling walls, falling ceilings, and frightening inhabitants—both human and rodent.
Then the door opened, and two stunning blonde twins gazed at the men with lovely, wintry blue eyes fringed with unnaturally dark lashes. Their full lips were beet red and complemented their garish gowns, which appeared to be in bloom for the season.
Lucere was rarely at a loss for words, but his jaw flapped open. Harris was rather discommoded, as well.
The ladies gave no greeting, but looked at each other and then broke into a prolonged fit of giggles.
Seeing no introduction from them in the near future, Lucere stepped up to the task. “Good day, my lovely ladies, I’m Mr. Stephens,” he said, converting his first name to a last. “And this is my good friend Mr. Harris. We are seeking an interview with the Duke of Lucere regarding letting rooms in his esteemed boarding house.”
The twins blushed and giggled with greater violence.
One of the girls rolled her eyes. “The Duke of Lucere doesn’t live here,” she said in a voice that intoned that Lucere, the real Lucere, could possibly be the stupidest man alive.
“Does he not?” Lucere feigned surprised. He was falling into his normal pattern of resorting to mordant humor to hide his disdain. Nothing set him off a lady faster than insipid giggles and eye-rolling. “Then why, my fair ladies, does he advertise his name on the sign? My companion and I are quite disappointed not to meet the man in full. Alas, we shall take our business elsewhere.”
“The Duke of Lucere is our beloved second cousin,” a soft soprano said. The twins parted, revealing the most ravishing female Lucere had ever beheld.
And Lucere had beheld many females.
She had all the fair coloring of the twins, but her eyes were larger and paler, her chin more delicate, her cheeks more majestic, her lips less red. A living, breathing angel, until he took in her figure. No celestial being of goodness could possess such luscious, sin-enticing breasts, further enhanced by a slim waist. And she clearly knew the allure of her body, for she wore a blue cotton gown that appeared several inches too small for how it strained across her abundant breasts. She curtseyed with the grace of a ballet dancer, giving him a good eyeful of that delicious bosom.
All Lucere could think was, For the love of all that’s right and just in the world, please don’t giggle.
Followed by, Precisely what kind of boarding house is this?
Had he stumbled into the Duke of Lucere’s bordello? He didn’t know whether to be intrigued or furious. For the moment, he would try intrigued.
“Please, do come in,” the woman said.
She beckoned the men with a graceful wave of her hand to follow her to a shabby parlor. The cream paint was faded, the ceiling plaster cracked, the brass fixtures tarnished, the burgundy upholstery suspiciously hidden behind blankets and pillows. He took in all these details at once because the beautiful goddess so vividly contrasted with her surroundings.
She curtseyed again. “I’m Miss Estella Primrose, and these are my sisters, Miss Cecelia and Miss Amelia.” She gave her giggling sisters a meaningful look. “Please properly curtsy for our gentleman guests.”
Ah, so they were Primroses! That explained why they were trying to pass themselves off as relations to the duke.
“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance,” Lucere said coolly. “I’m Mr. Stephens, and this is my friend Mr. Harris. We are in want of…” He paused, uncertain. Did he say he was in want of a room or a companion?
Harris finished what Lucere had started. “We are tutors in want of agreeable apartments.”
“Very good.” Miss Primrose smiled. Lucere swallowed. Those delicious upturned lips and white teeth wielded a scary power. They sent a hot wave over his skin and into his blood, sending it rushing to his sex.
“Won’t you please sit down?” she said and then turned to her sisters. “Bring our kind guests tea.”
“With milk and sugar?” one asked.
“Of course with milk and sugar,” Miss Primrose replied, a taint of exasperation beneath her soft tones. Once the twins had trailed out, Miss Primrose took the wing chair opposite the men. She kept her back ramrod straight, her hands clasped in her lap. The sunlight streaming from the window created a Madonna-like halo around her pale, fine hair.
“So, you have recently arrived in Lesser Puddlebury?” She fixed her bright gaze on Harris.
Despite the fact that Lucere had made a vow to his dying father to avoid low women such as Miss Primrose, and that he should be on his way to Scotland to meet his future wife of saintly reputation, he was annoyed that Miss Primrose didn’t look at him.
“Yes, miss,” Harris replied. “Our former pupils have reached their age. We were given a handsome recompense for our years of service, but we are currently in want of work. We have excellent letters from our prior services and seek a place to stay while corresponding with potential employers.” Truly, the man was a dead-face magician.
Her smile widened, its power increasing exponentially. This woman was clearly skilled at her arts.
“How fortunate for you that two apartments have recently come available,” she said.
“You must run a very popular boarding house, Miss Primrose,” Lucere replied, pointing out the suggestive anomaly of a “miss” running such an establishment. He was happy to note that he was coming back to his usual cynical nature after the initial shock of her beauty.
He smirked inwardly as she shifted in her chair.
“My mother is the proprietor,” she answered.
Of course, he refrained from saying. Such establishments were often family businesses.
“And many of our genteel guests are away at house parties and such for the summer, so we are rather dull for the moment.”
What a honey-tongued, scheming little angel. No one of any elegance or high breeding would step foot in this hovel unless for lurid purposes.
She lifted her eyes to Harris and graced him with another devastating smile. Perhaps she thought him more gullible to her charms than Lucere. “Therefore, I’m grateful to have such conversant and learned company to enliven our evenings.”
“And you chose not to journey to London to be with your cousin, the duke?” Lucere asked. “Most young ladies in your position revel in the delights of the Town.” He enjoyed watching a blush creep across her cheeks.
Harris cleared his throat, a subtle warning that Lucere chose to ignore.
She shifted again and averted her beautiful eyes from Lucere’s face. “My mother prefers not to travel.”
“How extraordinary that you are cousins with the duke,” he continued, enjoying her obvious discomfort. “As a humble tutor who must rely on the kindness of great men for his living, I’m keenly interested in learning as much as I can about elegant society. Might I kindly ask you what you know of this man?”
A little pleat appeared between her brows. “I find him to be a…” She studied the faded carpet. Her voice turned quiet and wistful. “A kind man of gentle nature. He listens with patience and compassion to others and always responds generously to those in need.”
It took a great deal of restraint to keep Lucere from breaking into laughter. Someone should hint to the poor miss that she should read a London scandal rag or two before uttering such obvious fibs. Good heavens, he must remember this description and retell it to Mowne and Starlingham. “Ah, you correspond with the duke frequently,” he said, feeding her more rope to hang herself.
“We correspond every week,” she readily lied, keeping her eyes on the carpet. This was doing it too brown. He had never received a letter from an Estella Primrose in hi
s life.
“And what of his sisters?” Lucere continued. “Or his mother?”
She squirmed. “The duchess is as kind and generous as her son.”
At that point, Lucere couldn’t contain a derisive bark of laughter. “How extraordinary! You have met her?” For if she had, Miss Primrose would know that his mother put the haughty Almack’s patronesses to shame.
“A f-few times,” Miss Primrose stammered. “As I said, my mother prefers not to travel.”
Lucere templed his fingers beneath his chin. He felt his lips curl in a predatory smile. Why had he thought he wouldn’t enjoy Lesser Puddlebury? “So it is the duke and you who share the intimate relationship.”
Her head jerked back, and she blinked. “Pardon me?”
“What are your rates, Miss Primrose?” Harris broke in.
Estella didn’t answer but stared at Lucere, her mouth dropped, her brows tensed. Harris repeated his question, this time in more gentle tones.
“Five shillings a week,” she replied to Mr. Harris in a flustered voice. “W-would that suit you?”
Five shillings for a room and beautiful companionship was a trifle in London.
At this point, the twins returned with the tea. After setting the tray upon the table, they shamelessly ogled Lucere and quietly giggled to each other.
Miss Primrose made a show of elegantly pouring their tea. It was comical watching her feign airs amid the chipped china. How she must make her customers feel important, as if they were genteel men on par with the duke himself. How she must entice them with her smiles and gentle eyes. Lucere knew how these ladies operated. Contrary to opinion, their work was less about the actual act and more about making a lonely gentleman feel loved and desired.
But Lucere was stuck with a quandary. An honorable man would stalk from this den of dissipation and write immediately to his solicitor. Although there was no law against someone using another’s name for advertisement, Lucere would think of some rule to toss at her. But that didn’t give him a place to stay while Mowne healed his arse.
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